


in dreams you lose your heartaches

by leighbot



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cinderella Fusion, Disney References, Fluff and Angst, Huntington's Disease, M/M, Non-Famous Zayn, Sick Character, malik family - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-05 22:11:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13397310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leighbot/pseuds/leighbot
Summary: “I’ve never really understood these; not much of a disguise.”“I dunno. It covers a lot of your face, to be honest. There’s a mirror behind you.”Zayn turns and studies his reflection, surprised when he sees that Niall is right. The mask isn’t cut in a simple Zorro style that would just frame his eyes; it stretches from the middle of his forehead down the bridge of his nose, hiding his cheekbones and curving into an end just before it reaches his ears. The cutouts for the eyes are a bit narrow, as he can see the edges of the mask in his peripherals and can feel the way his thick lashes brush against the top.Or, the Zinderella AU we all knew was coming.





	in dreams you lose your heartaches

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yendroid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yendroid/gifts).



> This was started TWO YEARS AGO for Jenny's birthday and she forgave me for the extended wait so I busted my bottom and wrote like a machine and was able to finish... half of it for her birthday this year. PROGRESS!
> 
> Happy birthday, babe! Part Two coming soon, I promise! I have until the end of the month, after all
> 
> In this story, both of Zayn's parents are alive but Trisha is dealing with the beginning stages of HD. Her condition does not necessarily worsen- though there is a bump in the road at one point- and there is *no* character death in any way.
> 
> Titles from Disney

“The prince is giving a ball.”

Deciding that staring at the blinking cursor in the open, blank document is less interesting than learning what Louis is going on about, Zayn looks up from his laptop with his brows raised. “What?” he asks, smiling at the look of exasperation on Louis’ face. Louis loves being cryptic but hates not being understood. It’s interesting.

Louis sighs, flopping down onto the sofa next to him and kicking his heels up so they rest on the edge of the coffee table they found for twenty dollars at a flea market the summer they moved in together. It was a steal. Zayn has half a mind to bitch at Louis about the shoes but it’s been years already so they’ve gotten their investment out of it. “Niall,” Louis says, as if a one word answer with their mutual friend’s name is an explanation. He waves his hand around and Zayn catches sight of a gold-embossed envelope in his hold.

Zayn whistles as he takes the envelope off of him. “Posh. What kind of party is he catering now? A king’s banquet?” he asks.

“Practically,” Louis scoffs. “A party for Enchantment Records.”

Zayn tugs out the invitation, rubbing his fingers along the gold filigree detail that matches the gold shine on the envelope. Another object falls out as well. He ignores it for the time being to look over at Louis incredulously. “That’s Simon Cowell’s label.”

“You know someone else who’d send out gold invitations?”

“Sounds like something you and Ni would’ve done freshman year,” Zayn says fairly, momentarily distracted. Louis sneers at him in a way that looks far too fond to be scary and Zayn grins at him before he turns back to the invitation in his hand. “’ _Simon Cowell, Harry Styles and Armand de Brignac invite you to-‘_ seriously, this guy’s name is _Armand de Brignac_?” he questions, affecting a terrible impression of a snooty French accent.

“S’ a champagne, you uncultured swine,” Louis giggles and shoves into his side, knocking Zayn over. Zayn gets distracted for a moment, setting his laptop to the side for safekeeping, and when he settles back into his spot he’s hardly surprised to find that Louis is all ready for a cuddle. Zayn just gets his arm along the back of the sofa, kicking up his own feet. His toes smack against Louis’ feet.

“How does a champagne throw a party? Probably tastes like dirt,” Zayn says, leaning his cheek against the top of Louis’ head. He’s thankful for the lack of product in it today, his hair soft from where it had been most likely shoved under a beanie. January’s been colder than usual this year.

“Beyonce drinks it.”

“Oh, well, if _Beyonce_ drinks it,” Zayn teases, looking back to the invitation and scanning the rest quickly. “What exactly are they celebrating?”

“A new album, I think. I don’t know. Being rich?” Louis shrugs, clicker in hand as he flips through the channels on the telly. “We got any crisps? I’m starved.”

“I think there’s a bag.”

Louis hops up, shuffling his feet across the floor as he makes his way into the kitchenette. Their house is quiet enough that Zayn can hear every sound he makes as he puts a kettle on. “You want?” Louis calls out.

“Yeah, sounds good.” He flips the invitation over, frowning down at it. “How’d Niall land this? Seems a bit more upper crust than the birthday parties he normally does.”

“I guess Niall did the catering for a friend of Cowell’s and he asked for him for this party. Niall’ll need extra help with serving, if you want. Two weeks. February 1.”

"Cheers,” Zayn says, looking up when Louis ducks around the archway. “Could use the money.”

“Course you could, you let Darla charge you a fortune to keep your parents in their own house.”

He’s had this same conversation with Louis a dozen times before. “She bought it so the bank wouldn’t take it, Lou.”

“She’s the devil herself.”

“Anyone who is related to Niall in any way can’t be the devil,” Zayn reasons. “I’m thankful to her for what she’s done and I’m not having this argument again.”

Louis sighs and bangs the door to the fridge closed after he presumably grabs out the milk. Zayn slides the invitation back into the thick envelope, remembering the second object that had come out when he sees it on his lap. He picks it up, running the pad of his index finger along the edge of the card. It’s gold- he’s sensing a theme here- and completely blank but for a magnetic strip along the back like a credit card.

“D’you know what this is?” he calls out, holding it up for Louis to see when he comes in a moment later with two mugs in his hands and a package of biscuits on his arm. So much for the crisps he’d wanted.

“Lemme see,” Louis says, trading Zayn a mug for the card but selfishly keeping the digestives to himself. Zayn doesn’t mind too much, he’s never cared for them with his tea the same way Louis has. “Looks like a keycard. Maybe it gets us into the party?”

That seems like it’d be a lot of work, sending out gold keycards to every attendee. He doesn’t think Louis is right but he doesn’t have any better ideas. He lets Louis settle back into his side as they finally settle into their tea and otherwise silence while they watch some pop culture daily show Zayn never misses but also never remembers the name of.

  
  


  
  


As much help as it is to pick up the odd serving shift with Niall, Zayn’s not quite ready to quit his day job. Being a barista is a horrible cliché for a struggling musician, but he gets on with his coworkers and his boss isn’t too terrible. It’s enough to just cover the rent for his parent’s house plus, with overtime and money from gigs, he can pay for his half of the flat he shares with Louis. There isn’t ever enough leftover to splurge on anything, but it’s enough to live and that’s all that matters.

When Zayn gets an exceptionally upset customer the afternoon after the announcement of the party, he reminds himself he’s so close to finishing an LP and only a half dozen more paychecks will get him the rest of his studio time, maybe less with the Cowell label ball. He forces a smile while he replaces the man’s perfectly good latte with another perfectly good latte, adding some extra whip for brownie points and good measure. He keeps the smile on his face until the man walks out the door, the bell tinkling above him in time with the grin slipping away.

It’s a slow afternoon, and Zayn’s alone on shift. He wipes everything down distractedly; humming the hook of what he hopes will work itself into his next song. He’s never been exactly confident in his writing ability- doesn’t seem to find that vulnerability comes as easily to him as it does for Louis- but he knows he has something to say and just needs to find the best way to actually say it.

One line in particular is frustrating for him as he repeatedly sings it under his breath. He is seconds away from giving in and calling Louis for help, hoping his friend will be able to brainstorm with him until it flows better, when the bell over the door goes again and he looks up. A crowd of lads his age come in, loud and brutish already though it’s just gone two in the afternoon. He meets them at the counter, pasting on his generic smile and holding back a sigh of relief when their orders all turn out to be relatively simple.

It takes him only a couple of minutes before he’s handing out the four black coffees that were ordered first. He heads back to the till to finish ringing in the last two guys.

“Thanks for waiting, what can I get for you lads?”

“Your number, to start,” the shorter one says, leaning a bit over the counter and leering. Zayn barely holds back the look of distaste that threatens to take over his features, leaning away and shaking his head.

“Sorry, can’t do that. Could get you something to drink, instead.”

The guy looks shocked before his mouth sets in a frown, muttering something under his breath that sounds rude before just turning away and heading to the group at the tasting station. Zayn, for a moment, forgets about the guy’s friend still standing in line, and he makes a face at the guy’s retreating back.

A laugh startles him, and his eyes widen in shock when he realizes he has a witness.

“Sorry, I-“ he starts to apologize but the man waves his hand in the air.

“Marc’s a cunt and deserves worse than that. _We_ should be apologizing, sorry.”

“It’s-“ _alright_ , he’s about to say but then he gets a better look at the lad, and the word dies on Zayn’s lips. He’s striking as he steps closer to the counter, ridiculously broad shoulders and thick waist under a pea coat and what looks to be a mess of brown curls shoved haphazardly under a pageboy cap so his prominent jaw is clearly on display. The bags under his eyes belie how tired he must be but his apologetic smile is warm and wide enough that a dimple teases at the corner of his mouth.

He’s kind of… _pretty_ , is the only word that comes to Zayn’s mind.

After a long, long moment, Zayn realizes he’s staring. He forces himself to snap out of it. The smile on the lad’s face has changed, his eyes cast down as it relaxes into something softer before he flicks his gaze up to meet Zayn’s eye again.

“What can I-um,” Zayn stammers, cursing himself for the blush he feels on his cheeks. “Drink- do you want- coffee?”

The lad laughs again, a surprisingly high-pitched giggle that doesn’t match the deep register of his voice at all. Something about him seems familiar to Zayn, almost as if he’s known him before in a dream, and he shakes his head slightly as if his mesmerized state is going to be cleared just that easily.

“D’you have tea?” he asks, hopeful.

“Yeah, we’ve got-,” Zayn says, turning away from the counter to point out the display case of loose and bagged teas. He finishes the lad’s order quickly, somehow managing to avoid making a further fool of himself.

“I’m Harry, by the way.”

“What?” Zayn asks, looking up from the till as he tucks away the change.

“My name- I’m Harry.”

“I’m-“ he starts to say when a commotion in the corner distracts him. He looks over quickly.

In the three years he’s been working at the café, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen quite a mess of the sugar station before. There are small milk puddles everywhere and sweetener packets in a colourful pile near the garbage hole. The cinnamon and sugar shakers are both upturned, quickly forming tiny granule mountains on the floor. Near the piles is a shattered container, the vanilla syrup that had been in it pouring out and spreading over the pieces of broken glass.

“Oh… my… god,” Zayn says, a bit dazed. He frowns at the retreating backs of the other boys, and then makes to grab the broom and dustpan before thinking better of it and dampening a few sheets of kitchen roll to tackle the counter first.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry says, scrambling to help Zayn as well.

“You didn’t do it,” Zayn dismisses his apology, waving away his attempts to help. Harry ignores him and scrambles to wipe the opened sugar packets towards the hole over the rubbish bin tucked away inside. He’s more successful than Zayn would have thought but he still comes away with his hands covered in sugar. Zayn laughs at him, using another damp sheet and grabbing Harry’s hands before he touches anything else.

“Hold on, come here,” he says, grabbing his hands before he touches anything. He must imagine the spark that tingles his palm when he cups Harry’s hand, soldiering on and wiping them down. When he looks up, he’s startled to see Harry’s leaning over him. Zayn steps back a beat too quickly, startled.

“Sorry,” Harry says, correcting his posture and standing straighter with his shoulders back.

“S’okay.”

“I mean, for the mess also.”

“Everyone has dickhead mates. S’alright.”

“Yeah, I know-“ Harry starts to say but the bell over the door jingles again and Zayn turns to see a young couple walk through.

“Just leave this, I’ll get it.” Harry starts to protest but Zayn is adamant. “I’ll manage it,” he says. “Now, though, I have to- excuse me.”

He nearly scrambles to get behind the counter and away from Harry. He feels a pull against his back, turning to look at Harry again as he circles the counter and approaches the till. It’s almost like a force of gravity, keeping him in Harry’s orbit.

 _Bye_ , Harry mouths to him, waving. Zayn smiles softly and nods in response, resisting the urge to pout when Harry leaves.

“What can I get for you guys?” he says to the couple with a smile. Their order is complicated and overly specific, but they’re friendly and good conversation while he makes their drinks up for them.

When they’re gone, the shop is quiet and dull. Zayn turns the radio up in the lobby while he pulls out the mop bucket. He runs the water as hot as he can stand it and pours in some extra soap so the bubbles pile high without spilling over. He lugs it to the front of the shop, pouring a small amount over the syrup that’s dried a bit near the edges, before dropping to his knees and sponging up the mess as best he can.

By the end of the evening, the spills are cleaned as if they’d never existed and Harry’s gone from his life as if he’d never even been there at all. Zayn hadn’t even told him his name or handed off his number. He tries not to pout about it.

 

 

“I swear, if I hear your sad song any more I’m going to actually stab my eardrums out.”

Zayn stops humming, hadn’t even been aware he was doing so, and pouts at Sofi.  “Rude.”

“I’m sorry, babe,” she laughs, coming up to him and giving him a bit of a cuddle. “But it’s depressing listening to you think you’re going to be alone forever.”

“I _am_ ,” Zayn says, hunching his shoulders to fold himself further into the hug. “I’m going to die old and alone.”

“You’re a dork,” she says, stepping away from him.

He pouts again- his friends are the _worst_ and never let him wallow in his singledom. He tells her as much.

“That’s not a word and you can’t even walk out of your door without people fawning over your cheekbones. Don’t give me that.”

“Are we talking about Zayn’s cheekbones again?” Louis asks as he comes through the doorway into the sitting room. He doesn’t immediately shove into the non-existent space between Zayn and Sofi, which piques Zayn’s interest.

“Vas happenin?”

“I-“ Louis starts, then pauses.

“Did you do something naughty again?” Sofi asks with a smile. “Did you make photocopies of your bum?”

“No, of course not. That’s boring a second time,” Louis says. The fact that he’d missed the joking sarcasm of Sofi’s question makes Zayn feel a bit uneasy.

“Babe, what’s the matter?”

“I think I met someone,” Louis says. His eyes are kind of bright, his cheeks are pink and his voice is weak. Zayn feels a bit faint, himself: Louis is notoriously unlucky, obtuse and uninterested in romance. To see him swoon is a bit unsettling.

Sofi squeals and bounces in her seat, making grabby hands for Louis to come closer. She tugs him down to his usual spot and fusses with his fringe. “Tell us, tell us,” she demands.

Louis groans, swatting her hand away. “He’s one of the minions at Cowell’s label- ‘sbeen working with Niall to get the party planned. He asked me to coffee.”

“At nine o’clock at night?” Sofi asks, smirking.

“No. That was this morning.”

“You slag- didja go back to his for some afternoon delight?” she cackles.

“We just were talking so long and then we went for a walk around Hyde Park and then we were in the area of his favorite restaurant and we dropped in and got seated right away and just- we just kept _talking_ for so long,” he repeats.

“Must be serious,” Zayn chimes in, returning the smile Louis gives him. “Lou didn’t even put out yet. Must have _feelings_ for a fit lad.”

In retrospect, Zayn deserves the roughhousing his comment starts.

  
  


  
  


A week later and the sky is still grey with the early morning hour when Zayn pulls up in front of his parent’s home. He stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray before grabbing his bag and stepping out of the car. The street is busy with early morning traffic, trucks passing close to his parked car, and the café at the corner is already sharing the smell of coffee and baked goods with the neighborhood.

The keys on his ring jangle as he flips through them for the one he needs. There’s a rubber coating around its edges so he finds it by feel, slipping it into the lock and turning it. It sticks like it always does but he’s used to it and jiggles it just the right way, kicking it near the base as he shoves his shoulder into the middle to help push it open.

“Zayn?” he hears from around the kitchen.

“Yeah, mum. How’re you?”

His mum comes around the corner, a smile on her face. “Hi, sonshine.”

Zayn goes quickly into his mother’s embrace, making himself small in her arms and wrapping his own around her waist. “Missed you,” he says, ignoring how small her frame feels. “How has your treatment been going?”

Trisha makes a sound into his shoulder, something that sounds like half of a laugh. “Always wanting to talk about my treatment,” she says, pulling back and looking into his eyes. “You’re just like your sisters.”

He rolls his eyes as she pushes his hair back from his face, tucking the longer pieces behind his ears. “Okay, what do you want to talk about, then?”

His mother purses her lips in thought before smiling again and nodding her head. “How long are you staying?”

“I’ve got a shift tonight with Niall but I’m free until then.”

“Talk to me about whatever I want for one hour and then I’ll answer your questions.”

Zayn grins. “All of my questions?”

“All of them.”

“Deal, mummy. What shall we talk about first?”

Trisha grins and links her arm through his, walking them down the hallway to the kitchen near the back of the house. “Tell me if you’ve any young men in your life while you make us a cuppa.”

“Easy one to start off with,” Zayn laughs. “Nope.”

“No one at all? Why not?”

“Mum, I don’t know. I’m busy.”

“With a heart and a face like yours, though,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t understand.”

“This is starting to feel like an attack.”

“Oh, sonshine. It’s not an attack. I just want you to be happy. But, okay, we’ll move on. Louis called me to tell me about his new boy. What do you know about Liam?”

Zayn smiles as he finishes the brew, pouring himself only a half of a cup. His parents have always loved Louis as if they were his own child, and the same was always true about Louis’ mum with Zayn. He’s had an honorary brother since he was small and with the two of them both growing up in mostly-female households, having a brother was an important thing. It helped them form their bond.

“I’ve met him a couple times now,” he says. “He’s a good lad. Has a steady job doing something in music- I’m not entirely sure- and seems to be half in love with Lou already. Which is good because I’ve never seen Louis get so…”

“Smitten?” his mum supplies, taking a mug that he hands over to her.

“That’s a good word.”

 

 

They talk like that for an hour- down to the exact moment because Zayn has been keeping track- and then Zayn sets down he popcorn they had been munching on.

“Time’s up, mum,” he says gently.

“I know.”

Zayn frowns and lifts an arm around her shoulders. “Tell me,” he urges. His mother’s diagnosis had been hard for him to take but he’d made peace with the fact that he had to be strong for her.

She shakes her head and sighs. He tightens his hold, ignoring how small she feels. He knows it’s all in his head, so far. “I don’t think it’s going to work, love,” she whispers. “We knew it was experimental. It was a phase one trial. They have my information if they choose to do another.”

Refusing to burden his mum with his tears, Zayn takes a deep breath and holds it. He nods.

“I’m not going anywhere, not for a very long time.”

He nods again.

“The doctor says my symptoms might not debilitate me for another decade sonshine. I’ve got time. I’m just so thankful you and your sisters didn’t get this from me. I would have never forgiven myself.”

“Mummy…”

“I know, babe, I’m sorry.” Trisha sniffs, wiping at her eyes. “I’m just feeling sorry for myself.”

The sound of the front door opening breaks them apart, Trisha standing and smoothing down her blouse. “Don’t want to upset Saf.”

Zayn follows her up, one hand on her back. “We got a long time,” he says, kissing her cheek. “I’m gonna do whatever I can to help.”

“You already send home money every paycheck, Zayn. Your baba and I can handle this.”

Zayn shakes his head, ignoring her as his youngest sister and his father come into the study. They both greet him with big smiles and bigger hugs. “Are you staying for dinner?” Yaser asks.

“I’ve got a job with Niall,” he apologises.

“No matter. You’ll be by for Sunday roast, yes?”

Zayn knows his parents are trying to keep things as normal as possible for his two younger sisters since the diagnosis. The promise of a trial for Huntington’s patients, though, had been too strong of a draw. Once his mum had qualified, they had attempted to refinance their newly purchased LA house but hadn’t been approved. An investor named Darla had bought it instead- some form of loan-slash-blackmail that Zayn doesn’t think is legal but isn’t confident enough to challenge in court. Zayn had already been living in the apartment with Louis and Sofi but has been paying half of his parent’s rent to help ever since.

Once Darla had learned how difficult he found it to make pennies stretch into actual, substantial money, she had set him up with her cousin’s son and that’s how Zayn came to work occasionally with Niall for Darla’s catering company. He doesn’t have it in him to break his mum’s heart by telling her how rough he’s having; whenever he goes through a bad time, his mum goes through his pain in addition to the suffering she feels on her own.

It isn’t an ideal situation but he doesn’t mind: he’d pay the entire rent if they’d let him. He would figure out a way.

“Safaa, wanna show me your homework before I go? I can help you with anything you’re stuck on.”

Safaa pouts but nods, running upstairs to her room to grab her bookbag.

“You alright, dad?” Zayn asks in a low tone as he opens his arms for another hug.

“We’re all fine,” Yas assures. “Don’t worry about us. You should be out living your life, not worrying about your mum and me.”

Zayn rolls his eyes while no one can see him. Like he could ever stop.

  
  


  
  


Gold.

Every single corner of the ballroom is almost literally dripping with gold. The columns and statues are gilded, the floors are white marble cracked with glittering gold, and the arches in the vaulted ceilings are painted pale blue with golden filigree accents. Though the tables are currently bare, they’ll soon be covered with cloths of the same blue threaded with gold. The plates and champagne flutes for the evening are the finest china and glass, all with gold edging, and the balloons that will be tied to the centerpieces are metallic and look like they’re solid gold. When full, they look far too heavy to effortlessly float in the air.

It’s… a lot and it’s completely over the top and, worst of all, it absolutely takes Zayn’s breath away.

Awestruck, he’s trying to keep his jaw from dropping when he feels Louis come to a stop next to him. “This is more than I expected,” he says in a quiet tone. “Wow.”

“We’re getting paid top dollar for this,” Louis says, grinning when Zayn tears his eyes away from the décor to share a look with him.

“Twice as much as usual.”

“Should’ve been three,” Louis says.

“It’s not going to be anything if you two don’t get to work. Yer lucky Darla isn’t here yet.”

They turn around in unison and turn twin smiles on Niall. “We’re going to be the best two that you have tonight,” Louis affirms.

“We’re just taking it in,” Zayn says. “What exactly is this party for, again?”

“It’s an album launch party for Harry Styles. Didn’t you read the invitation?”

Zayn thinks back to opening the envelope- also gold- and shrugs. “I read up until the fancy champagne and then I think I stopped.”

Niall rolls his eyes.

“Oh! I did remember to bring this though,” he says, pulling the gold card with the black magnetic stripe from his pocket. It had been in the same envelope as the invitation but he and Louis had never figured out exactly what it was for.

“Not sure how that got in your envelope,” Niall says, holding out a hand. “I’ll take it, thanks.”

Curious but knowing better than to press, Zayn hands it over.

 

 

It’s less work than usual, setting up for the party. Darla has approved a larger budget to work with and her and Niall have hired a few extra servers with the advance Cowell had given them. Zayn and Niall stay back in the kitchen to make sure everything is in place for when the food starts going out. Louis leads the remaining team members in setting up the tables and putting out the decorations. The three of them have worked together for years- though not always at this level- and they’re a nearly seamless unit.

For instance, Zayn knows Niall is going to head out to do a final check in five… four… three… two…

“I’ll be back in a minute. Will you pull the clothing rack in here so everyone can begin changing?” The kitchen smells like heaven and Zayn knows all of the food will taste even better than it smells because Niall’s got a bit of a magic touch when it comes to cooking. It’s time for Niall to make sure the front is as ready to go as the back is.

Zayn salutes and waits until the doors swing closed before stepping across the kitchen to the cooling racks. Trays of apps are stacked taller than Zayn can reach, just waiting to refill serving plates when needed, and he pulls one forward. The plastic wrap comes away easily from the corner and the bruschetta bites are right there for the taking. Zayn slips one out and into his mouth.

“Oh my god,” he says aloud around the food. The bread is grilled just right and crunches easily into two pieces between his teeth. The cheese melts against his tongue and the tomato and basil topping balances the bite. Just as he suspected, it tastes exactly as if Niall’s whipped it up with a magic wand and a sprinkle of fairy dust.

Knowing better than to steal another, he wraps up the tray and slides it back into position, licking olive oil off his fingers and enjoying the flavor lingering on his tongue. He washes his hands quickly in the sink before heading into the small hallway between the kitchen and the changing area, sliding the clothing racks forward into the room and grabbing down the one with his name tag.

Taking advantage of the empty locker room, he slips out of his clothes and unzips the bag. The entire outfit is black from the trousers to the vests with the exception of a gold bow tie. Zayn pulls the items on one-by-one and smooths his hands over the crisp, clean material of the shirt before buttoning the cuffs together smoothly. The trousers are a bit tight though incredibly soft where they press against the lace of his pants. Even the bowtie feels luxurious and Zayn’s sure it’s more expensive than the entirety of his wardrobe put together. He’s surprised the outfit is so understated, compared to the glitz of the ballroom, until he makes to zip up the clothing bag and feels the weight of one final item.

He pulls back the plastic to reach a hand in and he fingers the edge of something solid before pulling it out and staring down at it with a frown.

Is this a masquerade ball?

The gold mask in his hands is soft underneath, some kind of padding, but otherwise made of something tough but pliable. Zayn doesn’t recognize the material but marvels over the details that combine together in soft lines across the mask. He brings it to his face, the arc between the eyes fitting gently over the bridge of his nose, and blindly ties it loosely behind his head.

Looking for a mirror but finding himself at a loss, he steps out from the back room. “Niall?” he calls out, though he realizes quickly that Niall isn’t yet back to the kitchens. A man is stood in his place, instead, peering at the trays upon trays of food. “Oh, hello,” Zayn says, feeling awkward.

All he can see at first is the fit and flare of the man’s suit- and the flare and more _flare_ at the bottom of his trousers. It’s… not exactly Zayn’s taste but as he’s currently dressed in a gold bow tie and trousers a breath too tight, he doesn’t think he can really judge. When the man turns towards him, obviously startled by the way his shoulders tense underneath his jacket, Zayn’s surprised to find he’s handsome as well. His brown hair is long, curling soft around his collar and laying slightly over his right eye. He uses his free hand to push it back and Zayn notes the sharp peaks at his hairline, giving him an appearance of being older though Zayn is sure they’re around the same age. He’s wearing a black jacket with gold detailing and looks like a Disney prince, straight from a movie.

Zayn realizes he’s staring and he stops, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck as he looks towards the swinging double doors.

“Sorry,” the man says, his voice surprisingly deep and pleasant. “I’ve not eaten today and I followed my nose in here. I thought the stuffed mushrooms might require a taste test before the guests arrive.”

Belatedly, Zayn cottons on to the fact that the man has made a joke and he laughs in surprise, eyes flying back to the man’s _devastatingly_ handsome face. If Zayn believed in things like Love at First Sight, he’d be sure that’s what he was feeling now.

“I shouldn’t be in here, though,” the man admits with a grin that every romance novelist in the world has pictured when they’ve used the word ‘rakish’. It’s charming. “Promise you won’t tell I snuck in?”

“I promise,” Zayn says on reflex, watching with wide eyes as the man steps backwards out the door, giving Zayn an obvious once-over before he’s just… gone.

Before the doors have even come to a full stop, Niall bursts into the kitchen. His blue eyes are wide and his pink cheeks belie his excitement. “What was he doing in here?” he hisses.

Zayn shrugs, rewrapping the tray of mushrooms and sliding them back into place single-handedly. “He ate a mushroom. Two, I think.”

“He _what_?”

“I don’t know. He was eating a mushroom when I came out from the back. I was looking for you- is this a masquerade ball?” It feels like a stupid question since he’s already wearing the mask but he’s still in disbelief.

“What?” Niall asks, wiping his hands on his shirt as if his palms are sweating. “Did he like the mushrooms?”

“I didn’t ask,” Zayn says. “Focus though- the mask?”

“I can’t believe you didn’t ask him if he liked the mushrooms.”

“He ate two,” Zayn reasons. “If he hadn’t liked them, he probably would have stopped at one. Plus, I don’t typically question strange men that I find sneaking bites of food. He said he was hungry- maybe he’s been readying for the party all day and didn’t have time to eat before.”

“Maybe he’s been-“ Niall starts to repeat, eyes no less wide since he’s come in. “Zayn… do you not know who that was?”

“…someone important, judging from your face and the way you’re acting right now.”

“That’s Harry Styles.”

Zayn laughs, the mask tickling at his nose when he scrunches it up. “No it wasn’t.” He wipes his hands on a spare towel, not willing to get grease on his uniform. There’s a lot riding on tonight for Niall and Zayn isn’t going to be the sloppy waiter at the event. “I would have recognized Harry Styles; his face is everywhere.”

“It’s his fucking party, Zayn. That was Harry!”

“Who was?” Louis asks, walking in at the end of the conversation.

“Harry Syles ate a mushroom-“

“Two,” Zayn supplies helpfully, hiccupping a bit from his laughter.

“-and Zayn didn’t even recognize him!”

Louis looks between the two of them, one brow raised. “…kay. Well. I’m not going to touch that. Guests will be arriving in twenty so we’re all getting ready to change now. Whatever this is,” he says, waving a hand between them, “just... carry on, I suppose.”

“It _was_ Harry!” Niall calls out to Louis’ back as he walks away, but then the rest of the servers on their team start filing in so he quiets down and turns back to the prep station. Zayn pokes him in the side.

“What about the mask?”

“What about it? Looks nice.”

“Do I really have to wear this?”

“It’s a masquerade ball, so…”

“You’re kidding,” Zayn says, though he knows that Niall isn’t.

“Did you really not read the invitation at all?”

Zayn sighs. “It’s a little loose, can you help me?” He stands still as Niall stands behind him. He reaches up to touch the edges where they hit his cheeks and lets Niall untie and retie the strings. “Thanks,” he says when Niall steps away. “I’ve never really understood these; not much of a disguise.”

“I dunno. It covers a lot of your face, to be honest. There’s a mirror behind you.”

Zayn turns and studies his reflection, surprised when he sees that Niall is right. The mask isn’t cut in a simple Zorro style that would just frame his eyes; it stretches from the middle of his forehead down the bridge of his nose, hiding his cheekbones and curving into an end just before it reaches his ears. The cutouts for the eyes are a bit narrow, as he can see the edges of the mask in his peripherals and can feel the way his thick lashes brush against the top.

“I guess it’s kind of nice,” he allows, running a finger along the edge again and smiling to himself before looking back to Niall. “Do you have to wear one?”

“I’m the boss,” Niall laughs. Zayn takes that as a sound no.

Louis comes out from the back room first, brushing imaginary lint off his trousers when Niall and Zayn catcall him teasingly. A pretty pink stains his cheeks just below what the mask hides. “I’m going to find Liam before it starts,” he says. “See you losers in a minute.”

For that comment, Zayn hollers one last time as the door swings shut behind Louis. “Wanna spy on him?” he asks Niall before the cross to the door in unison and pop it open a crack. They watch Louis head to the stairs where a group of men in expensive looking suits are gathered. Liam’s stood with his back towards them and turns when Louis touches at his elbow and says something in a low tone. Zayn barely resists shouting out something rude because he knows better than to do something that will anger Niall like that. He’s distracted, anyway, when he watches Liam’s face break out into a wide smile as his hands come up to cup Louis’ jaw. He leans in to press a sweet kiss to Louis’ mouth. It’s gentle and nice and takes the wind right out of Zayn’s sails in the best way.

“This is kind of gross,” Niall says before heading away.

Zayn laughs, making to pull back and follow Niall, when he runs his eyes across the remaining men in the group and he gasps in surprise when he sees the man who had been in the kitchen earlier. He jerks back from the door and presses his back flat to the wall, holding his breath until the door stops swinging.

“What’s the matter?” Niall asks, turning back around.

“Harry Styles was in here earlier,” Zayn says.

Niall blinks slowly. “I know.”

“No. I- you don’t understand, I met Harry Styles. I caught him sneaking mushrooms.”

“I know,” Niall repeats, clearly over the whole ‘a popstar ate my food’ thing.

“I can’t believe I didn’t recognize him!”

“I feel like _I_ told _you_ the same thing,” Niall says in a dismissive tone, growing bored and walking away.

Zayn doesn’t move for a long moment, recalling the way Harry Styles’ eyes had dragged across Zayn as if he had liked what he was looking at and Zayn feels a small, giddy shiver shake up his spine as if he was still a teenager listening to albums late into the night and imaging what it’d be like to have the songs he loved written about him.

The door banging open when Louis comes back inside, nearly braining Zayn before he darts out of the way, pulls him quickly out of his reverie and gets him back to work.

 

 

The ball is flashy but boring underneath its glitz. The guests are rude and not a single one thanks Zayn as he passes around Niall’s treats. He forces his mouth to remain relaxed and neutral but can’t keep himself from rolling his eyes when he turns away, tray empty and not even a nod of acknowledgment from a high power attorney and the flock of socialites that flitter about her. The memory of his encounter with Harry Styles is buried beneath his growing annoyance at the wasted brain cells in the room.

He heads back into the kitchen to reload, chugging a bit of water quickly.

“How’s it going?” Niall asks, sweat on his brow as he loads up several empty trays at once. His face is twisted in concentration.

“I think the wave of empties coming in here is proof enough of how well it’s going,” Zayn answers, tossing his cup in the garbage. “Everyone is loving the food. Where’s Darla?”

“She’s a guest of the party; she’s out there somewhere. Comes to check in every so often and she’ll do a headcount just before dinner. Have you seen Louis?”

Zayn smirks, adjusting his mask and turning back around to grab his tray. “I saw him and Liam leave the ballroom a few minutes ago. He hasn’t returned?” he asks, affecting an innocent expression.

“I’m going to kill-“ Niall starts to say when Louis rushes into the kitchen, out of breath and collar askew but otherwise looking decent enough that Niall won’t follow through with his half-formed threat to commit a murder.

“Sorry, sorry!” Louis says, straightening his jacket. “Sorry!” he repeats when Niall’s eyes don’t lose their tinge of crazy. “I’m here, I yelled at Liam, it’s fine.”

“You have a hickey on your neck,” Zayn supplies helpfully, rushing out of the kitchen just as Niall makes a strange wailing sound in his throat.

The thought of Louis getting yelled at buoys Zayn’s spirits and gets him through the next half hour. He turns to pass off the last two of the mushrooms when he spins and nearly smacks into someone.

Before the man’s even finished apologizing, Zayn knows exactly who it is.

Even wearing a simple black mask, Harry Styles is wonderful to look at. And he smells… _so good_.

“It’s my fault,” Zayn insists, words coming on auto pilot. “Are you alright?”

“I am,” he assures. “You’re the pretty one who caught me sneaking these earlier.”

It isn’t a question but Zayn finds himself nodding anyway.

He takes one off the tray and pops it into his mouth, licking his fingers off almost indecently. Zayn flushes but feels himself respond on instinct. Harry Styles may be a famous popstar but he’s a guy underneath it all and Zayn knows how to respond to attention from guys.

“It seems I’m ready for a refill,” he says, casting his eyes down before looking back up to Harry. He feels the mask hugging his cheeks, giving him a sense of invisibility through the anonymity. “I should go.”

“No, don’t.”

“I have to,” Zayn says, stepping backwards and not taking his eyes away.

“I command you to stay and talk to me.”

“Are you the prince at this ball?” Zayn teases.

“In a manner of speaking. I’m Harry.”

“I know.”

“Right,” Harry says, looking at the floor and breaking their eye contact. He shakes his head to get his long hair in his face a bit- Zayn isn’t the only one who needs to hide, sometimes, he guesses- before one of his hands runs through the hair to push it back and away from his face. “Do you have a name?”

“Hmm, the help doesn’t have names.”

Harry grins. “Put your tray down and dance with me.”

“I can’t,” Zayn laughs, all his teeth on display when he smiles. “I’m working.”

“As prince for the day, I cannot allow you to leave me.”

Zayn shakes his head and turns away. “Goodbye, Harry. It was nice flirting with you. I mean- meeting you,” he stammers, all sense of cool gone as he smacks his hand to his forehead. “Gotta go.”

He dashes into the kitchens, out of breath and in desperate need of a cigarette.

“What’s the matter? Did you slap someone again?” Niall asks, grabbing his tray and loading it up with some kind of meatball appetizer. “I’m sure they deserved it but you can’t keep doing that at work. Darla will fire you.”

“No, I didn’t slap anyone.”

“No, he was just flirting with Harry Styles,” Louis says, coming up behind them.

“Why are you always around?” Zayn sneers.

Louis shrugs and Niall gawks, still as a statue even though another server is waiting for a full tray, as well. Louis steps between them and grabs Zayn’s dish, passing it off to her with a smile. “Here you go, love.”

She exits the kitchen just as Harry comes in, stopping short when he finds them all looking at him.

“Hi,” he says with a wave, eyes finding Zayn quickly and locking in place. “Can I talk to you?”

“No,” Zayn says just as Niall shouts a yes and pushes Zayn forward. “Niall, I’m working. _For you_.”

“Go talk to the nice pop star,” Niall says out of the corner of his mouth.

Louis’s eyes are wide behind his mask and he loads up his own tray haphazardly before skirting around Harry and rushing out the door.

“Sorry,” Zayn says, stepping closer to Harry. “I’ve already embarrassed myself in front of you enough. Have a good night.”

“What’d you do?” Niall asks, earning a glare when Zayn shoots him a look over his shoulder. “Not my business, got it.”

“It was sweet.”

Zayn crosses his arms and sighs, a piece of his fringe having fallen forward and fluttering with his breath. “It was a sign,” he says.

“I agree- it’s a sign we should keep talking.”

“You’re a famous pop star at your big masquerade party- you have _got_ to have someone else to talk to.”

Harry shrugs and reaches an arm up to finger at the jut of Zayn’s elbow. “I’d like to talk to you, though.”

“Go on,” Niall encourages. “It’s okay.”

“Will you just back me up, here?” Zayn rounds on him. Niall gives him a shit-eating grin in response.

“There’s some time left until dinner,” Harry says. “I’d like you to be my plus-one… belatedly.”

“This is absolutely surreal. Is this a joke?”

“C’mon,” Harry encourages again. “What have you got to lose?”

 _My dignity,_ Zayn thinks to himself. “Fine!” he says a moment later, hands going to his hips. “I’ll dance with you but I’m not eating with you.”

“Fine,” Harry parrots. “That means I have forty-five minutes to convince you to eat with me.”

“For the record: this is crazy,” Zayn says. He makes to follow Harry out but Niall stops him.

“Wait, hold on. You can’t go like that.”

“Niall, you told me to go.”

“Yes, but I’ll get in trouble if you’re caught. You can’t go out there wearing a server’s uniform.”

“I don’t actually have anything else to wear. The clothes I wore in today aren’t exactly appropriate.”

Niall comes around the island counter, shooing Harry away. “He’ll be there soon, Prince Charming,” he says. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Harry backs out of the kitchen after nodding. “See you soon, then.”

“Did you pack a spare change of clothes for this exact occasion?” Zayn asks snidely, yelping when Niall grabs him by the arm and tugs him into the back locker room. “Lemme go.”

“Eileen, take over!” Niall shouts before lowering his voice. “We’re going to pilfer some clothes from the others- but I’m not willing to burn good workers so you have to be back in two hours, do you hear me?”

“Two hours?” Zayn repeats.

“The servers are off in two hours and-“ Niall checks his watch- “fifteen minutes so that gives us enough time to get the clothes back where they go.”

“Won’t they see me in their clothes?”

“They won’t assume a guest of the party went through their things. We’ll get you a new mask, too.”

“This is a thousand percent wrong,” Zayn says, “and a little percent possibly gross.”

“It’s not like you’re wearing their underthings,” Niall reasons, looking through the lockers. “Some of this stuff is too big for you,” he says, dismissing the first few things he sees and moving onto another. “Oh, here we go!”

He pulls out a silk blue blouse and matching trousers. “Someone dressed up tonight… I’m pretty sure this is Courteney’s outfit.”

“It’s fine,” Zayn says, shucking off his black button-up and trousers before grabbing for the clothes. He pulls the shirt over his head, feeling how his shoulders stretch it. “Hmm, this isn’t going to work,” he says, pointing to the two inches of stomach showing above the line of his trousers. He tugs it back off, getting stuck and whining until Niall laughs at him and helps him out.

“You should just show Harry those,” Niall says, nodding to the blue line of lace showing above the waistband of his trousers.

“Shut up,” Zayn says, rolling his eyes. “I can just wear my black shirt. The bottoms fit.”

“No, this is more fun,” Niall says, looking through a few more lockers. “Here, wow, this is nice.”

Zayn turns to look, smiling at the white shirt Niall’s holding. “That is nice,” he agrees, crossing over and fingering the soft material.

“Thin, too. Could wear it under a jacket.”

Zayn pulls it on over his undershirt, tucking it a bit into the back of his trousers. “Do we _have_ a jacket somewhere?”

“I saw Benny come in with a blazer,” Niall says, riffling through a few more lockers until he produces Benny’s white blazer with silk-looking lapels. “This should fit. He’s got your shoulders.”

“I don’t even know how to respond to any of this,” Zayn says, shrugging the jacket on and smoothing the lapels. “I like it.”

“Here, fix your necklaces,” Niall says, pulling the chains out from under the shirt’s collar. “Looks nice,” he agrees, giving his seal of approval.

“Can I go now, dad?” Zayn asks, rolling his eyes.

“Not yet, but almost. One last thing.”

Zayn sighs, throwing his head back in frustration. “Please let me go on my pretend date with Harry Styles and _enjoy my night_.”

“You need a new mask, hold on.”

“Are you going to find that from someone else’s locker?” Zayn teases, sprawling on the bench.

“No, I’m going to take you to get a better one. Let me go check up front real quick.” Zayn stays put while Niall runs out to the kitchen and stands when he returns. “This way.”

He leads Zayn out a side door and down a dark hallway. “This feels like a heist.”

“Shh.”

“Louis is going to be _pissed_ he missed this.”

“ _Shh_.”

“Where are we going?”

“Shut _up_.”

Zayn bites his tongue and stays silent until Niall reaches the end of the hallway. He pulls something from his back pocket and Zayn’s interest is somehow piqued further when he sees it’s the gold card from his invitation. Niall slides it through a security lock, waiting for the device to beep and blink a green light. Niall shoves the door open with his shoulder, beckoning for Zayn to follow.

As if Zayn has had _any_ say in the matter all evening.

He stays quiet as long as he can but they reach another door and Zayn just can’t anymore.

“What are we doing?” he whispers.

Niall glares at him. “C’mon. We’re getting you a mask.” He smacks around the wall for the light switch, cheering under his breath when he finds it.

“Why are we- whoa,” Zayn says.

There’s a selection of masks hanging on a rack as if they’re in a store. Unlike a department store’s mask selection, however, these are glitz and glam to the extreme. He’s certain one of them is covered in actual diamonds.

“What the hell?”

“These were the selection laid out for the label employees and their guests- there were over a hundred here earlier. Maybe more.”

Zayn feels like he needs to wash his hands before touching any of them.

“Here, get the gold one off,” Niall says, stepping behind Zayn and releasing the tie. “I think the white one would look nice. Match the shirt.”

Zayn nods but sees another he likes, his hand drifting of its own accord. It’s a little larger than the one he’d been wearing but it’s beautiful in its simplicity. White down the middle, the eyes and edges are coated in a soft blue glitter. The mask is edged in blue lace set with small, clear crystals. There are two white feathers stuck to the left side, connected with a silver clasp, and it feels right when he touches the bridge of the nose gently.

“Matches the ceiling,” he says inanely.

“And your pants,” Niall says.

“Niall!” Zayn turns on him, flushing dark.

Niall laughs. “Not _those,_ although it matches your underwear, too. It’ll look great with the parts of your outfit we can see,” Niall assures him. “I can help…”

“Yes, please.”

Zayn runs his fingers through his hair, fluffing the short black curls at the top, and lets Niall set the mask in place.

“Does it feel alright?”

“Perfect.”

“Set your watch,” Niall orders. “One hour and-“ he glances at his wrist- “fifty-two minutes.”

“Got it,” Zayn says, setting his alarm.

“Go out through that hallway,” Niall says, pointing to a door opposite from the one they had used. “Use this,” he says, handing Zayn the gold card. “It gives you access to every door, I believe.”

“Isn’t this when you tell me not to get you into trouble?” Zayn asks. The mask feels nearly weightless as if made of clouds.

“Harry will cover for me. He’s trying to get into your lacy drawers.”

Zayn pinches his arm and heads out the door.

 

 

It quickly becomes apparent that Zayn should have asked for further direction, as the hallway he heads down branches off several times and his sense of direction is gone considering the fact Niall and he had traveled under the cover of darkness. He uses the gold card several times until he comes to a set of stairs. Figuring he has nothing to lose and couldn’t trace his way back is he had to, he heads up the stairs slowly.

One hour and forty minutes left.

Another locked door greets him at the top but he slides his card and gains access, stumbling over a small lip of carpet into the hallway. He’s in a makeshift, unmanned studio and he feels like Charlie in the Wonka Factory.

Knowing he shouldn’t touch but completely unable to stop himself, Zayn steps forward and traces a gentle touch over the soundboard, taking care not to nudge any of the levels. He sees a recording on deck and he finds the control for the playback. He checks over his shoulder to ensure he’s alone before hitting play and taking a seat in the comfy armchair.

He closes his eyes as the music starts with lovely strings before a piano comes in. It only takes a few more seconds for a voice to join the simple melody and only a second longer for Zayn to identify the singer. Harry’s soulful and his voice is full of restrained power, everything stripped down to the bare bones. It’s mesmerizing.

The track ends and something of it echoes in Zayn’s chest. He imagines Harry singing one of the songs Zayn’s written or- even better- him singing on a track _with_ Harry and having his big break, and he’s lost in his daydreams so he doesn’t hear the door behind him open.

“There you are.”

He jumps in the chair, nearly upending it as he jumps up and turns around.

“I’m _so_ sorry,” he rushes to say, stepping away from the board. “It was just… curiosity.”

“I’ve heard it kills the cat,” Harry says, stepping forward and offering Zayn his glass of champagne. “Did you like it?”

“I _loved_ it,” Zayn says, accepting the flute and taking a sip. “You’re so lucky to work with the best in the business- best people, best equipment, best _everything_.”

Harry grins hard enough to dimple and he takes Zayn’s abandoned seat. “What do you think about this one?” he asks, scrolling to another track. It’s completely different from the gentleness of the first one, upbeat and perfect for a summer banger. Zayn grins and nods his head. “Very hair metal adjacent,” he teases.

“Well, I didn’t grow my curls this long for nothing,” Harry says seriously.

“Should we go back to the party?” Zayn asks, Harry’s eyes a stark green against the black of his mask.

One hour and fifteen minutes.

“Stay and talk to me,” Harry says, pulling up another chair and motioning. Zayn slides into it easily.

“Talk about what?” he says.

“Tell me everything about yourself, Beauty.”

“Beauty?” Zayn flushes.

“Well, you’ve successfully dodged repeated attempts of mine to figure out your name so I’ve got to call you something.”

“I’m not a Disney character.”

“I could call you Cinderella instead,” Harry smirks, tugging Zayn’s chair closer but keeping his hands to himself otherwise. “If the mask fits, after all.”

 

 

They talk for a long time. The conversations centers around their sisters and growing up as the only young boy for a bit, circles to music and how LA never feels like home but they’re both here to further their decidedly unequal careers, and spirals down to discussing whether Fredrik Backman or Celeste Ng had written the best novel of 2017.

“You’re so wrong!” Harry insists, fingers tracing the seam of Zayn’s trousers at his knee. His hand’s been there for about twenty minutes, Zayn thinks, but he doesn’t mind because his own hand is on Harry’s other arm, fingers dancing around and plucking at the gold detailing of his coat. It’s comfortable, the two of them hidden away in here, and Zayn thinks about leaning in and ending the argument with a kiss but he holds back.

He wants to savor the moment just a little longer.

“You’re entitled to your incorrect opinion,” Zayn sasses, leaning away and settling further into his chair. Harry follows, probably unconscious of his movements, and he lets his elbows rest on his knees as he laughs.

Thirty nine minutes.

“You’re a mystery, Beauty.”

“Wrapped in an enigma?”

Harry nods, his hand leaving Zayn’s knee cold when it reaches for the lapel of his blazer. “This is nice,” he says, looking down.

Zayn thinks he’s speaking of the clothing until he follows Harry’s eyes and realizes his necklace has captured Harry’s interest. “It was my father’s,” he says.

“Is he-“

“Oh, no, no,” Zayn rushes to clarify. “He’s fine, they’re… It was the ring his father gave him when he left Pakistan. He gave it to me when I left Bradford.”

“They’re here, now though?”

“Erm, yeah,” Zayn says, shifting in his chair. He doesn’t want to pop their comfortable bubble.

“What’s wrong?”

“My mum is… she’s sick. They’re here because the hospital at UCLA was running a, erm… a phase one trial for Huntington’s patients. It ended without…” he sighs and stops.

“I’m sorry, Beauty,” Harry says, running his hand up Zayn’s arm and then his neck. Zayn doesn’t realize he’s crying until Harry’s fingertip is wiping away a tear that’s slipped under the edge of his mask.

“She’s okay right now,” Zayn says, pulling back and wiping under his nose. Harry’s hand stays at his cheek. “That’s what I try to focus on.”

“So you take care of your family? You’re… so young.”

“I’m older than you,” Zayn returns, his words thick with tears in his throat.

“You’re still too young to carry this weight,” Harry says, hooking his finger to cup Zayn’s skill and pull him forward.

Zayn goes easily, desperate to forget the last few minutes and return to the lighter pleasure of being this close to a beautiful man who wants him back. They’re so close he can already taste Harry. He closes his eyes and licks at his bottom lip, parting them around a sigh and tilting his chin up for a better angle.

A loud _crash_ breaks them apart, the door leading into the studio opening and banging against the wall.

Zayn’s heart is immediately racing in his chest and his chair skids back as he pushes away from Harry on instinct, slamming into the sound board and giving him a mild sense of whiplash.

“Oh, shit, hi, sorry mate,” Liam says. Louis steps back from Liam’s chest, wiping his mouth and adjusting himself in his trousers.

Zayn feels like he could die in a fire from the embarrassment staining his cheeks.

In unison, Harry and Zayn both shake their heads. “It’s fine, Li” they say.

Harry turns. “You know Liam?” he asks Zayn.

“Erm… no?” Zayn says. “I wasn’t saying ‘ _Li_ am’. I was saying that, um, I’m _lea_ ving.”

“No,” Harry says, standing and taking the two steps to get in front of him. “Don’t leave.”

Zayn looks up at Harry and finds himself smiling, relaxing at the hint of a dimple he can see. “I think we should _both_ leave, then,” Zayn suggests. He slips his hand into Harry’s and lets himself get pulled up to his feet. He checks his watch while Harry leads him out of the studio by the hand.

Thirty minutes.

“Where are we going?” Zayn asks around a laugh, breaking into a half-jog to keep up with Harry’s ridiculously long strides.

“My best mate is getting off. I should be, too.”

Zayn snorts and tugs at where they’re connected, turning Harry and pulling him closer. “You’ve got spots to shag around here?” he asks. “What kind of boy do you take me for?”

Harry crowds him against the wall, using his hand to cushion Zayn’s head. His fingers play with the strings of the mask but he doesn’t try to untie them.

“I’d really like to kiss you, Beauty,” Harry says, leaning forward enough to brush their noses together.

“What do you think I stopped us for?” Zayn asks.

 

 

Twenty seven minutes later, Zayn’s watch buzzes on his wrist.

“I have to go,” he says against Harry’s mouth, their lips swollen from necking like teenagers for the better part of a half hour.

“No,” Harry whines, drawing out the word as he tries to lick into Zayn’s mouth again. The fingers of his right hand are twisted through Zayn’s necklaces and the fingers of his left hand are tucked under the waistband of Zayn’s trousers, stroking the edge of his pants and making Zayn burn from the inside.

Zayn returns the kiss a little longer, panting and trying to find some relief against the bulge in Harry’s trousers, before he puts both hands to Harry’s chest. “Really, I have to go,” he says. “I’ll get in so much trouble.”

Harry drags his mouth along the sharp of Zayn’s jaw, teeth teasing the stubble forming a shadow on his cheeks, but he lets Zayn pull just a little bit away. “I need to see you again. Meet me after the party?” he tucks his key card in Zayn’s back pocket. “Even if it’s just to look at you, Beauty… I need you to show up.”

Zayn curls his fingers into the lapels of Harry’s jacket but he doesn’t let himself pull him any closer. The buzzing on his wrist starts again. Sixty more seconds have passed.

“I’ll show up,” he promises in a desperate rush, slipping out from between Harry and the wall he’d been pressed against. “I’ll be there.” Harry turns with him, one of his fingers still through the ring on the chain around Zayn’s neck, and Zayn makes a rash decision. “Keep this,” he says, slipping the chain over his head. “Give it back to me when you see me.”

He doesn’t wait for Harry to say anything, just jogs away down the hall. Before he goes through the door, he looks back.

 _Bye_ , Harry mouths to him with a wave.

Two minutes overdue.

 

 

Niall’s frantic when Zayn skids into the locker room, undressing quickly and shoving items into their respective lockers.

“Are you sure?” Zayn asks, earning himself a murderous glare and rescinding the question. He barely remembers to grab both the gold access card and Harry’s hotel key from his back pocket but he does, slipping back into his own clothes and making to head out to the kitchen.

“Your mask!” Niall catches him last minute, handing him his generic gold mask.

“Thank you,” Zayn says, out of breath as he haphazardly ties the strings. He makes to leave again when he hears his dad’s ringtone sound in his locker. “I have to,” he tells Niall, backtracking and opening his locker just as Benny comes in the back. Zayn watches him grab out his white blazer from the corner of his eye as he dials back his father.

“Hi beta. Mummy’s in hospital again. She had a bad fall.”

“I’m on my way,” Zayn says, stomach tight with nerves and throat immediately dry. “I’m coming.” He hangs up. “Niall-“

“Go, go,” Niall says, squeezing Zayn’s upper arm. “It’s fine. I’ll cover with Darla.”

Without sparing a second thought, Zayn grabs his jacket and rushes out of the room.

He dimly registers sliding the blue and white mask into his pocket.

  
  


  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! [Come say hi](http://iamleighbot.tumblr.com/)!


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